Shadow of a Girl
by sapphire-child
Summary: On the trek to the barracks, Charlotte finds herself watching Claire and surprises even herself when she steps up to start a conversation with the young mother.


**Title:** Shadow of a Girl  
**Characters:** Charlotte, Claire  
**Spoilers:** up to The Economist  
**Original Post Date: **06/04/2007  
**Summary:** On the trek to the barracks, Charlotte finds herself watching Claire and surprises even herself when she steps up to start a conversation with the young mother.

* * *

They've been tramping for hours now and Charlotte can feel that her feet are beginning to rub and blister inside her boots but she doesn't say a word or let one wince escape her. She's too determined and stubborn to let her weaknesses show and if none of these poor sods are in need of a break then she doesn't need one either.

She finds herself watching the young mother in particular – Claire she thinks her name is – as they push through the jungle. She's only a small woman – slightly built and slim. Well, slimmer than she is anyway. But then she hasn't been living off the land for three months – and with a hungry baby to breastfeed as well.

Charlotte wonders vaguely how Claire is managing to keep up with the others with the awkward added weight of her baby. But she's striding along almost mechanically, her shoulder hunched protectively over her son as she pushes her feet wearily into the ground. Occasionally she'll glance up to navigate her way around a tree but other than that her eyes are downcast – she seems solely focused on walking.

Charlotte doesn't really blame her for that. She's having trouble keeping up between her lack of drinking water and the suicidal pace that their leader, the bald man, has set. She can't imagine how tired Claire must be comparatively. One a whim, she quickens her pace slightly and comes up behind Claire, searching for something to say to break the ice and then her eyes alight on the infant in her arms and despite herself her heart softens.

There's something about kids that just makes her feel so…

"How old is he?"

Claire startles out of her walking trance and turns to look at Charlotte in confusion. "I'm sorry?"

"Your son," Charlotte nods towards Aaron, swaddled in his Bjorn. "How old is he?"

"Oh," Claire says. "He's nearly two months."

"It must be hard for you here," Charlotte says, her voice thoughtful. She's not good with sympathy and she hates being pitied so she doesn't tend to impart either of them upon others. Claire seems glad that she's not being patronised either, she holds her back a little straighter as she walks despite the weight in front. "Looking after him here without disposable nappies and bottles and all that must be difficult. You'd make your own nappies I suppose?"

"Yeah," Claire shrugs. Close to she looks quite fatigued Charlotte notices. She hadn't really noticed the shadows under her eyes from far away. "It's time consuming but when you have to make do…well you just do it."

"Is the father here or…?"

Claire laughs hollowly at that, as though she's steeling herself to tell a story that she's long ago gotten sick of telling.

"God no. He's long gone now. I haven't even seen Thomas since he left me."

"Ah. He was one of _those_ blokes was he?"

"I was four months pregnant," Claire shrugs glibly. "He got scared about the responsibility so he left me. I think that should give you some sort of indication as to what kind of guy he was."

"One with the worst timing imaginable?" Charlotte suggests dryly and Claire smiles bitterly.

"You're telling me. Not that my timing's much better really – crashing here at eight months pregnant," she rolls her eyes emphatically. "I'm just lucky I guess."

"Lucky?" Charlotte says incredulously and Claire laughs again, not as darkly as before.

"Well I suppose lucky would be never becoming pregnant in the first place and never getting on the plane…but I really wouldn't want it any other way now. Aaron…" she shrugs and a proud smile smooths across her lips. "He's my life."

"It can't be easy though," Charlotte repeats her previous statement. "How on earth do you find the time to take care of yourself?"

Claire hesitates then to skirt a particularly rough patch of ground and when the two women converge again she continues to speak.

"I've got friends here," she tells her. "At least…well there's people who can watch him for me while I wash up or catch up on some sleep. Sun's a really good babysitter – she's pregnant now too actually. Kate's taken care of him before – she's the one who delivered him. And…there was Charlie too."

"Are they here?" Charlotte glances over the rest of their depressingly small group. "Or did they go with that other group?"

Again, Claire hesitates, stepping extra carefully across the uneven ground.

"Sun and Kate both went with the other group," she said slowly. "Charlie, he…"

"What about him?" Charlotte turns back to Claire who has stopped altogether now and she's shocked to see that the younger woman's face has creased and she looks close to tears. "Are you…alright?" she asks uncertainly. Of course she's not alright and she shouldn't even be the one whose asking her if she's okay – she's only just _met_ her for Gods sake – but for now it seems that there's nobody else who can be bothered so she'll just have to make do and ask the stupid awkward questions to try and make Claire feel better. Christ. "Did something…happen to him?"

"He died the other day," Claire looks up suddenly and Charlotte meets her gaze unflinchingly. Claire's pale eyes are surprisingly steely as she blinks back her tears and then takes a steadying breath. "I just found out last night."

"Oh. Sorry," Charlotte says, embarrassed. "Were you two close?"

"I guess," Claire says evasively. "We were sort of…together." She shakes her head suddenly and pushes past Charlotte. "It doesn't matter now..."

"Well of course it does," Charlotte says, frowning as she trails along after her. "I don't know if there's anyone else here that you can talk to about…"

"Look, can you please just stop talking?" Claire snaps suddenly but when Charlotte stares at her, affronted, she sighs and softens a little. "Look I'm sorry but…you sound a little bit like him – he was from England – and I can't afford to be upset about him right now. I need to look after Aaron. I need to keep on walking or I'm going to just lose it and then I won't be any use to anyone."

Charlotte merely nods, her lips pursed. "Look, I know it's not my place but really, you should talk to somebody about…"

"Well I don't want to talk about it okay?" Claire says sharply and then she hoists Aaron a little tighter in her arms and she pushes through the group, leaving Charlotte walking alone again, watching the back of Claire's blonde head as she follows close behind their leader like an obedient school girl. Her shoulders are set and hunched over her child again and her head is bowed again, eyes on the ground before her.

She hasn't looked back once in the entire trek and Charlotte wonders what she's trying to put her back to. Is it just to get away from her memories of this boyfriend of hers – this Charlie character? Charlotte gets the feeling that there's more to the story than she's been told – surely he didn't just drop dead for no apparent reason? There must have been an accident of some kind…

She shakes her head and sighs when she feels her sweaty curls stick uncomfortably against her damp neck. It's not her place to know or to judge. She's only just met these people after all. But as she watches Claire push forward through the jungle one step at a time, she finds herself full of trepidation.

Less than a minute ago Claire was smiling and laughing – friendly even. Now she's curled in on herself like a wounded animal, keeping herself cold and detached so that she doesn't lose herself in the silent grief that she's trying so desperately to hold back. Charlotte wonders vaguely just how long Claire will be able to go before she cracks under the pressure of her own emotions and the dark, quiet shadow that's dogging her every step takes over completely.

She shakes her head again – it doesn't matter anyway. She's here to do a job, not to worry about the emotional wellbeing of a bunch of plane crash survivors. She pushes her sweaty fringe off her face and then wriggles her toes inside her shoes. She grimaces a little as the blisters on her feet rub painfully against the boots – even through her thick socks – and then she continues to push her way through the jungle.


End file.
